


Morpheus' Arms Can't Hold Me Quite Like Yours

by KimieVII



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), falling asleep should be all about trusting, sometimes you need a good excuse to hold your favorite demon/angel's hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimieVII/pseuds/KimieVII
Summary: There was something on Aziraphale's mind. Something that kept tickling his curiosity about the human activity that was "sleeping".Crowley was a real Master in this field. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was struggling with the concept.With a demon that was now developing a habit of sleeping in the flat above his bookshop almost every night, Aziraphale just couldn't hold it anymore.“I think... I think I would like to try it.”“Really?”Crowley sounded too perplexed and too mocking for Aziraphale's liking, but the angel meant what he had said, to his own surprise, and so he nodded with determination.“Yes. Yes, really. But I am not certain of the... process.”“So basically, you're asking me to help.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 172





	Morpheus' Arms Can't Hold Me Quite Like Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I am, as usual, a bit late to the "party", but better late than never, right?  
> I want to give my _**biggest**_ thanks to [ZiggyPasta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZiggyPasta/pseuds/ZiggyPasta) and [Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness) for their hard work as the beta-readers of this fic. They were such a huge help, and also gave me amazing tips and great advices, I can never thank them enough. I am extremely grateful that they took the time to look over my work and fixed all the mistakes I make as a non-native english speaker. 
> 
> It's been many long years since I wrote (and published) anything, so also thank you to the Good Omens fandom for being so amazing and so inspiring I actually sat and started writing again. It was incredibly important for me, to get back into writing, so publishing this little thing is actually quite a big deal for me.
> 
> Thank you tons for reading!

# Morpheus' Arms Can't Hold Me Quite Like Yours

The first time Aziraphale peeked inside his own bedroom in the middle of the night, it was out of pure curiosity.

The bed that sat there, and to be fair the existence of the room itself, had only been for pretense. Not that anyone beside him — and more recently Crowley — ever entered the small room, but Aziraphale always told himself that it helped “playing human” sometimes. 

Now, there was a multitude of details that would sell his “only-pretending-to-be-human” away if an actual human were to lay their eyes on the room. From the state of the furniture, to the choice and positioning — or lack thereof — of earthly objects. 

For example, the alarm clocks — and there were four of them — were all placed by the windowsill, far from arm's reach. Most of the furniture was buried under a thick layer of dust, as was the floor, and no clothing could be found inside the wardrobe. In fact, there was no wardrobe at all. However, there was a dressing table, surmounted by a large mirror, sitting quietly in the far right corner of the room. On top of it, one could find makeup tools, cosmetics, curlers and various combs as equally peculiar as they were fancy. There were also jewels of various values, thrown haphazardly in a classy wooden box with a delicate carving of a scene representing Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, with a snake that circled all four faces. 

The story behind it all was that Aziraphale wanted a bedroom without actually wanting to use it. He wanted it like he wanted the flat above his bookshop to have a kitchen. And a bathroom. And a study. And finally a fancy little room which its only purpose was to harbour collections of any sort. 

Aziraphale's collections all consisted of books, though, and as such, already found a home in his bookshop. So the room was useless. It was also depressingly empty, save for a single plant Crowley had gifted him some time ago, and Aziraphale had beamed at the idea that the “collection room” — or so he called it — wasn't going to be a waste after all. That he did well to keep it despite its uselessness. 

That was _not_ where Crowley thought the plant would end up. Sometimes, Aziraphale could just feel the demon judging his choices for the plant just by the way he would glare at it, at the room, and finally at him. 

_“Lonely, not enough light, you have to water it, you have to **talk** to it, do you want a dying plant up there?”_ was what he could read behind his frowns. And then, _“not that she deserves better,”_ behind his shrugs. 

Aziraphale only thought that if Crowley judged the plant to be lonely, it was the perfect excuse for him to bring in more plants and then take care of them himself. Gardening was not one of Aziraphale's pastimes after all. And if he was to tell the truth, he only kept the plant alive by listening to its needs and miracling them for it every once in a while, when he remembered it was there. 

The plant survived, somehow. 

This room, like the others, was merely for decoration. Aziraphale had looked how modern flats were furnished in magazines, had snapped his fingers and there they were, lazily thrown into existence. Even though he only put the minimum of effort required, the angel thought he did well. He was rather proud of himself, even. No need to overdo it, right? And so, an actual unused bed found its place in an unused bedroom, in an unused flat. 

The windows of the bedroom also lacked curtains. A small oversight, obviously.

That was ancient history, however. Now, if anyone were to go upstairs and step inside the bedroom, not only would they find curtains, they would also find them drawn sometimes. They could also notice the bed sheets were significantly less dusty than they used to be — not that they would have any reference point unless they were Aziraphale and Crowley themselves. 

If anyone wondered why that was, they would find the presence of a demon in the flat had a lot to do with it. Not the kind of actual evil presence doing its usual evil things, mind you, but the presence of a demon who found out his friend owned a bed one day, and decided it was to be made of use. The presence of a demon who could get tired from time to time, and enjoyed sleeping as much as the next human. Or at least, as the next human who enjoyed sleeping as much as he did. 

Aziraphale was a fool to think the plant would lure his old friend in his bookshop more often than he already did. He should have known — no really, he should have, they had known each other for six thousands years after all — that mentioning the bed next door would be more effective. Then again, Crowley already owned a bed, he even owned more than one, so really, Aziraphale didn't know, he didn't _think_ this would happen. But as it was, and from that day on, Crowley could be found sleeping in his very own, very dusty, very-happy-to-finally-serve-its-purpose bed. 

It started with Crowley asking, nonchalant as always but with voice tight, and Aziraphale squinting at him, dubious of his intentions, but allowing it anyway. 

Then whenever the demon asked, Aziraphale would always agree. So naturally, at some point he just stopped asking, only stating that he was going to lie down for a bit, and they both knew where he would do just that.

Crowley napping on the couch of Aziraphale's bookshop was nothing new. In fact, it was quite an old habit of his. But his _decorative_ bed? Aziraphale didn't know what to make of it, and he was never able to shake away the nagging curiosity. After all, he knew Crowley had beds in his own flat back in Mayfair, and that those were not decorative in any way, but he never actually _saw_ him sleeping — _actually_ sleeping, not just napping — before. And for some reason, which still baffled him because the demon _prized_ what was his and his only, he seemed to favor the angel's bed over his own, given the amount of times he chose to spend the night above the bookshop. 

So was Aziraphale truly to blame if the curiosity was just too much at times?

The first time Aziraphale peeked into his own bedroom in the middle of the night and found Crowley sleeping there, feelings of various natures rose and swirled inside him. 

Guilt was one, to start. Guilt and shame for invading Crowley's space while he remained unaware. It felt very intimate somehow, to see Crowley at his most vulnerable, looking peaceful while he trusted his corporeal body to Morpheus' arms. 

Crowley never said if he didn't mind prying eyes falling on him while he slept, while he was powerless, but to Aziraphale's defense, the demon always, _always_ left the door ajar. Not closed, not locked, but opened enough as if to say _“come in.”_ Like an invitation, like a temptation... and who was Aziraphale to resist? That much that old wily serpent knew. And so did Aziraphale.

If guilt was one thing, so was envy. Aziraphale was never interested in sleeping before, never saw the use nor the appeal of it. It all felt like a waste of time for a being like him who didn't need to rest, and who had so much to do. But Crowley had always managed to raise questions and interest inside him with his own old ways to stir, to poke, to question.

“Why for?”, “What is it like to...?”, “Ever wondered if?”, “What if?”, “What do you say we...”, “Why, why, _why_?”

Hypotheses, possibilities... always ruffling feathers the angel would leave alone, always wording what he never dared to put in mind. Situations, ideas or doubts that didn't even occur to him until Crowley and his _“Do you ever think about”_ and, _“No, Crowley, I don't, but now that you mentioned it, now that you put your finger on it, how can I ignore it? How can I leave that idea alone?”_

It wasn't like the angel didn't question things on his own, never tried things on his own or never even _wanted_ them and acting on it. He did, and he did so much more than any other angel to ever exist, but Crowley was to Aziraphale what Earth was to the moon: Spinning around, showing off all its fascinating colors, attractive lands and seas, full of life. If they moved, they moved together, each at their own pace, each affecting the other in their own unique way. Always gravitating, and always in orbit... 

If Aziraphale was perfectly honest with himself, it usually upset him when Crowley was, consciously or not, prodding him outside his comfort zone. And yet it was altogether the best thing that happened to him, when he did step outside the bubble, and Crowley was always there to catch him, always by his side every step of the way so the experience wasn't half that bad. Rather, it was freeing, and downright amazing once he got used to it.

Now he couldn't help but wonder: What did it feel like... to fall asleep? He never actually tried it before. In reality, the thought of it terrified him. But watching Crowley in his bedroom with his quiet snoring, the relaxed muscles of his face, the content and peaceful smile even he could see there — small but definitely there — it all tugged at his hunger for knowledge. And Crowley made it look so easy... 

Aziraphale wanted to know. 

The second time Aziraphale invited himself into the bedroom while Crowley was there, he dared cross the distance all the way to his bed. He sat there, slowly not to wake his friend, but the latter didn't so much as twitch in his sleep. Aziraphale's heart, on the other hand, fluttered — a different emotion worming its way to his heart. This one filled him with warmth. It was an emotion that was old and familiar, for he had first felt it a very, _very_ long time ago now. One that he recognized every time he thought of Crowley, every second he spent with him. 

Sometimes, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder how it was even possible for him —and humans alike for it was a human feeling — to keep it all inside the confined walls of one puny corporeal form. How it constantly threatened with overflowing and pouring out like an unstoppable wave. If unleashed, it would sweep everything on its way and come back to smack him with the strength of what scientists thought killed God's joke that were the dinosaurs. And it would leave him trembling and broken, because there was no way a feeling so strong could leave anyone unshaken.

The third time Aziraphale pushed the bedroom door open, Crowley was _not_ sleeping and Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks, as if caught with one hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Crowley was lying on the bed, yes, but his eyes were most definitely not closed. 

He looked up, meeting Aziraphale's startled expression.

Crowley, on the other hand, didn't look surprised in the slightest. He didn't look upset either, and Aziraphale remained frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to do next: If he should apologize and excuse himself, or fiddle with his hands anxiously, like he found he was already doing. To his relief, Crowley was the one to speak first.

“Care to join me?” he suggested with a tilt of his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. As if to match his words, he shifted further away to the right side of the bed in order to leave space for Aziraphale, and patted the top of the sheets where now was a newly vacant space. At the lack of reaction from Aziraphale, however, Crowley's smile turned in a slight pout. “Come oon...” he whined a bit. “Not gonna stand there all night, are ya?”

“N-No. Of course not!” Aziraphale stammered and took shy steps towards the bed. “I just−”

“Thought you'd never come.”

Once more, Aziraphale froze.

“And what do you mean by that?” he asked cautiously.

“Weell, I leave the door open every time I come up there, you know. And, you _know_. Only was wondering if you'd close it and leave me be. Or,” he paused, “if you'd join me before I fall asleep, maybe?” He shrugged, obviously trying to make it look like it didn't matter whatever Aziraphale would have chosen. 

It did.

 _So it **was** an invitation_, Aziraphale thought as he climbed on the bed and adjusted the pillows to make himself comfortable, then he let his back rest against the headboard.

“If you wanted me to join you, you could have just asked,” he retorted rather smugly, all traces of anxiousness now vanishing to leave place for something more familiar, like the way they would tease each other over everything and anything.

“I could have, yess... But it's not as satisfying as seeing you actually doing it without being asked to.”

Crowley was in a flirtatious mood, it dripped heavily from the way he drew and hissed every word. As aggravating as it was, Aziraphale found nothing witty with which to reply, so he only rolled his eyes and shook his head, playing exasperated. It only invigorated Crowley's teasing. Aziraphale was not complaining.

“ 'F course you'd choose tartan sheeting, out of all things.” Crowley ran a hand over the duvet. “You don't even sleep in there,” he lightly said, partly stating facts for himself, partly directing it at Aziraphale, knowing full well it would raise spite out of him.

“I may not sleep in it, but I wanted my bed sheeting to be lovely.” As predicted, there it was, though the angel sounded annoyed more than upset.

“Hate to break it to you, but _these_ are not lovely.”

“They are.” 

_Now_ he sounded offended.

“Oh they aren't. And they're dusty as well,” Crowley reckoned.

“Yet you're sleeping in those dusty, so-called unattractive sheets almost every night.” Aziraphale shot back.

“That I am!”

Bubbles of laughter spilled out of both their throat at the absurdity of their conversation. 

The truth was, they were both conversational, the night was early, and the air around them was light. Slowly but surely, Aziraphale slipped into ease. Enough that he felt he could entrust Crowley with thoughts he usually kept for himself. 

“Crowley...” The name escaped his lips with so much softness Crowley had to lean in so he could hear the angel's words. “I was wondering... I mean... I-I meant to ask... I sort of wondered... What is it like?”

“What is it like to _what_?”

“You know... being asleep.”

“Well... hard to describe, really. It's like... letting go of everything,” Crowley gestured vaguely with his hands. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to describe with those movements, not that his words were any more helpful. He hummed lightly as he thought how he could explain the whole experience that was sleeping, stumbling for words. It took him several minutes and some stammering before he could explain any further. “Problems, worries, it's like a break. From thinking, from doing. Breaks are much needed sometimes.”

“But what does it _feel_ like?” Aziraphale insisted, clearly not satisfied with the answer Crowley offered.

“I couldn't possibly describe that to you, Angel.”

“But− could you at least explain how come _you_ can do it?”

“What on Earth are you trying to say? I'm not a mind reader, Aziraphale,” Crowley spat, starting to lose patience with his friend's nebulous questioning. 

“I mean... how can you let go so easily? Isn't it daunting? You are _defenseless_. Anything could happen to you and you wouldn't even know...!”

It costed Aziraphale to word it, but this worry whenever Crowley was lost in slumber was also his biggest bewilderment regarding the demon. How could he let such a loss of control happen to him? How could anyone, really? He understood humans had no choice in the matter, but Crowley...? He certainly _did_ have a choice. It never made sense to him. 

“Yes, it _is_ scary,” Crowley started, “but people don't fall asleep just about anywhere. They generally feel safe, safe enough at least, to let it happen. And... you're never truly out. Gone! Bodies usually kick people awake when something's wrong. Not always, but that's a thing.”

“And that is a... _'thing'_ for you as well?”

“Yeah, of course,” Crowley said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Aziraphale stayed silent for a while. His eyes wouldn't leave Crowley's face, but in reality he was lost in thought. Eventually, he averted his gaze and sighed.

“I still don't get it.”

“Nothing I can do about that.” Crowley shrugged, because, truly, there was nothing he could help his friend with if he didn't understand.

“I think... I think I would like to try it.”

“Really?”

Crowley sounded too perplexed and too mocking for Aziraphale's liking, but the angel meant what he had said, to his own surprise, and so he nodded with determination.

“Yes. Yes, really. But I am not certain of the... process.”

“So basically, you're asking me to help.”

In spite of the playful jibe that could be heard in his wording, Crowley's voice was just above a whisper, shy even, as if the offering would scare his friend away. It filled Aziraphale with something indefinable and he swallowed all while conceding.

“Basically, I am.”

Crowley propped himself on one elbow so he could rest his chin on his hand. He gestured idly with the other hand for his friend to lie down properly on the bed.

“ 'Kay. Yeah, so err... first, you gotta relax. Close your eyes. Yes, like that. And try to empty your mind.” 

“You won't try anything funny, right?” Aziraphale cracked one eye open only seconds after closing them.

“What do you mean 'funny'?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Well... I don't know. You are a demon, you could do anything!”

“... Right. _Really_ , Aziraphale? Don't pull your ' _we're hereditary enemies_ ' on me now. Six thousands years we've known each other, and an averted Apocalypse and you still...? Y-you...” Crowley stumbled on his words and spluttered, eyes wild with disbelief, outrage and a twinge of hurt.

“That's not it!” Aziraphale surged in his haste to correct his friend. “Don't be ridiculous, my dear. I didn't mean it like that. I know you wouldn't hurt me.”

“What was that about, then?” 

Crowley still sounded upset and Aziraphale frowned. It was not his fault the demon got the wrong idea, was it now?

“I meant... like waking me up with a bucket of water or tickling me or _oh_ , I don't know. These sorts of tomfooleries.” 

“I won't do anything like that. Can we get on?” Crowley scowled, yet again losing patience. 

Aziraphale nodded and closed his eyes again. 

He listened intently to Crowley's directions but quickly started to feel frustrated. This was not working. He was lying still, his eyes were closed, he had _commanded_ his body to fall asleep. So why was it not complying? Wasn't it just supposed to happen the moment one decided they were going to sleep?

“Why are you not breathing?” Crowley's voice rose in the overall silent room. “Sleeping is not playing dead for a few hours and coming back to life when it's time to wake up. Humans don't just stop breathing. This is not about shutting down all your organs.”

“That sounds _awfully_ more complicated than it should be.” Aziraphale pursed up his lips.

“Never said it was easy.” 

Aziraphale sighed. Since this wasn't working, he opened his eyes and sat up, giving Crowley the look he reserved for him whenever he felt frustrated with something and wanted his friend to fix it for him. A look of _absolute_ imploring.

“I don't get it...” he pouted like a spoiled kid.

Crowley rolled his eyes, refraining himself from any comment that would aggravate his friend's mood.

“Sleeping is a human thingy. You have to work like one for it to work,” he tried to explain but Aziraphale's sad pout only worsened so he sighed and laid back down again. “Look. I know this is scary, I get that. But I'm here. Nothing will happen to you, so just... focus on my voice... slow down your breathing...” Aziraphale complied. “Think of something nice...”

“Like what?” he interrupted. 

“I don't know, Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed. “Like your favorite food, your favorite book? Whatever. Something nice.”

“I don't have just _one_ favorite of these, I have _many_. And thinking of them makes me both hungry and wishing I could read. This is not helping _at all_.”

“Then think of something else! Bloody hell!” 

It was like Aziraphale wasn't even trying, and at this point, Crowley wasn't sure it was worth continuing this at all.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue, but didn't show any indication he wanted to stop. Resigned, Crowley decided to let go of his annoyance and resume helping. As much as he could, at least.

“You have to relax,” he reminded Aziraphale.

“I don't quite think I can do that, dear boy...” the angel confessed. 

“Would... holding my hand help?” 

Crowley's offering was so soft, Aziraphale barely heard it. For a moment, he thought he imagined it, but one look at his friend's expectant face and he knew the question truly had been uttered.

The room stayed silent for a few more seconds before he found his voice again. 

“Yes... Yes, it would,” he murmured back.

The demon didn't waste another second and shifted closer, reaching out with an open palm, waiting for Aziraphale to reach out himself and take the last steps towards holding it. Once more, an open invitation. One that he could still accept or decline, even though he worded his agreement already. 

Aziraphale hesitated only a second before taking the hand in his own, and the moment he did, Crowley smiled something warm and genuine and gave the hand a light squeeze. 

The angel's hand was warm over his own and the demon wondered for a brief moment why on Earth they were not doing this more often. He always marveled at the easiness of it all, how they fitted in each other's perfectly, how naturally their fingers intertwined of their own volition. And yet, the unspoken was loud behind the small gesture. 

“What now?” the angel whispered, eyes searching Crowley's face with a tenderness that made the demon gulp loudly. 

“... Right.” Crowley's voice was strangely hoarse and he vainly told himself he should try to hide the color he was certain was adorning his cheeks. There was not much he could do to hide it, however. “Now you...” he stopped himself when Aziraphale lifted his other hand and let it rest gently on his cheek. “You, hm... you...” he tried to remember what he wanted to say, but Aziraphale's gaze was so intent, the hand on his face so caring, it was as if his brain had stopped cooperating. 

There was much to read in the angel's eyes, they seemed to have a language of their own. Words maybe weren't needed when they spoke that loud, and without even realizing what he was doing, Crowley slowly leaned in until his face was only a breath away from the angel's lips. All the while, he kept his eyes locked on Aziraphale's. 

It was only when he felt the angel's breath on his lips that he noticed how close he had moved, and panic started to settle in. 

“Your heartbeat is supposed to slow down, not the other way around,” he said, lamely. 

The words seemed to drag Aziraphale out of his own reverie and a look of confusion crossed his features. Then he remembered what Crowley was talking about, what they were trying to do there to begin with, and he scowled.

“I can't help it, you're holding my hand!” he said defensively.

“Well what am I supposed to do then? Let go of it?” Crowley was now fully panicking and his words were escaping his lips quicker than he would normally allow.

“What? No!” Aziraphale's scowl deepened and his grip on Crowley's hand simultaneously tightened. 

“This... this won't do,” Crowley breathed hard and pushed himself away from Aziraphale, to the far end of the bed. He did _not_ let go of Aziraphale's hand, though, like the angel had demanded. 

This was an outcome Aziraphale did not expect when he asked Crowley to help him experience falling asleep. He was at a loss for words, and so was Crowley it seemed. 

Sometimes Crowley was still a mystery to him. He was both engaging, pulling in, inviting, both retreating, crawling away, drawing back in. Aziraphale somehow concluded eventually that Crowley was not as self-confident as he wanted the world to think he was, that his laid-back attitude, his assertiveness were but a facade. But this was only the two of them, there was nothing to fake there, was it? 

Aziraphale started to feel as frustrated as he had felt when sleep would not come to him on command, and the new awkward silence that had fallen on the bedroom was agonizing. He sighed something small and helpless.

“Can we resume with me trying to sleep?” 

“You heart is racing, I can feel it through your hand. This won't do,” Crowley answered matter-of-factly.

“What do you want me to do, then?” Aziraphale exclaimed with exasperation. “There's nothing I can do to slow it down now!”

Crowley frowned in return. “Nothing I can do 'bout it either.” 

“You are so− goodness, this is ridiculous. I don't even know why I wanted to try this,” Aziraphale suddenly let go of Crowley's hand and used it to join the other with rubbing his temples.

“Well frankly, neither do I,” Crowley snapped and rolled on his side, showing his back to Aziraphale.

“Alright then,” Aziraphale said dryly, “I suppose there is no need for me to stay here any longer. Good night, Crowley.” He moved to stand up, arranged his bow tie and waistcoat slightly, though there was no need for it really, and started walking towards the door.

“Fine then,” Crowley mumbled against a pillow, somehow suddenly feeling utterly drained and defeated.

He heard something among the lines of “You and your temptations!” from behind his back, and that was enough to make him roll back to face Aziraphale who was already seizing the door knob. 

“You're being unfair, Angel. You were the one who asked, I only offered to help.”

Aziraphale huffed, as prim and unbothered as ever, or so he wanted to show, and shut the door behind him in a not-so-prim-and-unbothered way. 

Crowley shrugged at the closed door and crossed his arms on his chest as he laid down once more, only to bore holes in the ceiling now. 

Less than five seconds passed before the demon almost jumped to the same ceiling when the door was abruptly opened again. He turned his eyes in the direction of the entryway and saw the angel that had stormed off storming back in, making a beeline towards the bed, towards _him_ , with a resolute look on his face.

Crowley braced himself. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, what Aziraphale was about to do, but whatever it was, there was no stopping him. His eyes said as much.

Aziraphale put a knee on the bed and Crowley's eyes widened like two large saucers when the angel's hands grabbed his face. He almost shut them instinctively out of fear, but instead they grew even wider than possible, eyebrows almost raising out of his face when instead of the blow he half expected, he felt Aziraphale squeeze his cheeks and press his lips against his with astounding gentleness. Such a sharp contrast with the way he had been pulled in, he noted much later. 

Crowley froze in utter shock for a few seconds, but quickly started melting in the angel's warm embrace, color returning to his face with renewed vigor. 

When he started regaining control of his brain, his hands found Aziraphale's face, and he returned the kiss. Just as softly as the angel at first, then hungrily, thousands of years of love and longing suddenly breaking loose, free to spill over unrestrained, and threatening to drown Aziraphale in the process. But the angel had his own maelstrom of carefully withheld feelings now bursting down to somehow balance them in the middle of those storming seas. 

Aziraphale had been scared, terrorized even, at the lack of reaction from Crowley for the first few seconds after he started kissing him, already regretting his decision that hadn't really been one. He hadn't been thinking, truly, but the moment he had left the room, cold bitterness and regret had chosen to make a home inside him. Nothing he was unfamiliar with, but then he noticed something else was there, hidden and lonely. An idea. Or rather, a wish, a desire. They had been about to actually close the gap only minutes ago, he couldn't shake the thought or the want away. There had been so many similar situations in the past he couldn't count them all, but those were from a different time when neither would have dared to dream. They were on their own side now, though, weren't they?

In a moment of ephemeral courage, or foolishness — he wasn't quite sure which it had been — he had been struck with the certitude that if he wasn't to do it now, he never would. And so he had found himself back in the room, and before he even knew what he was doing, he was kissing Crowley. 

Now not only had his old friend kissed him back and soothed his worries, he was also filling him with something Aziraphale usually felt when the occult being was indulging each of his whims. When he listened and when he cared. When he tried to please, when he simply was there. But that feeling was so much bigger, so much stronger now, Aziraphale almost collapsed under it. Crowley's arms were securely wrapped around his back, however, holding him, cradling him, _cherishing_ him. Aziraphale was never happier he had listened to his guts. It had never failed him before. Not where Crowley was involved at least. 

Any thoughts of trying to sleep were thrown through the window as they kept kissing, breaking their embrace only a brief moment to smile at each other, and then kissing again. And again. And again... like they had thousands of years of history to re-write with their lips. 

Crowley was mildly aware that somewhere, at the back of his mind, a question was itching to be asked. Surely enough, it had been a noticeably upset angel that had left the room, so why, seconds later, was that same angel now kissing him like there was no tomorrow? It truly was a wonder. 

Then again, Crowley reminded himself that it was very much like Aziraphale to back up only to come forward later. Or vice versa. And while he knew the angel's Faith was the metaphorical chains holding him down since his creation, now that he had broken free from Heaven's grasp, maybe this only meant he finally had found his footing. Maybe it brought him there, gutsy enough at long last to leave both his hands on the demon's shoulders and join him in the slow dance Crowley started a few millenia ago. 

Aziraphale was never truly comfortable with their Arrangement before, Crowley wasn't stupid, he knew that much. And yet, whenever they met and whenever they shared that secret, the angel's eyes were always shining, his smiles infectious and his laughter healing. Crowley was like under a spell each time. He quickly found it to be captivating, and that he could never possibly get enough of it. It was something genuine, reserved for their meetings. They had games and secrets that were only theirs, and he could tell Aziraphale found those to be exciting, and possibly liberating, until he remembered what they both had to fear. 

For they did somewhat dance together before thanks to those times, it was more like dancing around each other. They were never in sync, there was always something holding them back, it never truly was what they both wanted and it definitely never was like what they were doing now. Whatever ran through the angel's mind to lead to this moment, the demon saved for later the question and the certain conversation he knew it would spawn. There was no time like the present, and he didn't want to ruin the moment. He had waited long enough for this, he could wait just a tiny bit longer to talk about it. 

It left him with hope, though. Bright, shining hope that hitting the brakes and waiting for Aziraphale had brought them both in the same spot and that, from there, they were going at the same pace, in the same direction. Under the worshiping hands, the burning kisses and the endless affection he was subjected to, this future didn't seem so far away anymore. 

Thoughts and worries easily flew away from his grasp, the question remained buried. Instead, he gave his full attention to the angel in his arms, aiming for his lips but also his cheeks, his nose, his forehead and neck... the corner of his eyes. He returned every single kiss he received and gave twice as more, intent on savouring every second of this desperately longed-for moment.

It was early morning and the curtains were still drawn when they eventually found themselves both lying down again, hand in hand again, but this time, Aziraphale didn't even have to try and force himself in a state of sleep for it to happen. 

A content, relaxed smile floated on the angel's face as Crowley watched his chest rising and falling slowly. It turned out angels snored as well, but Crowley would be lying if he said he didn't find it somewhat endearing. He _would_ pester Aziraphale about it, though.

Soon after, Crowley joined his friend, and like a promise, he didn't let go of his hand. 

That night, like many ones before, a demon could be found sleeping in Aziraphale's bedroom. And for the first time ever, so was an angel.


End file.
